The Shadow of the Opera Ghost
by MaryAllen92
Summary: This is the true story of the Opera Ghost, as told by the person who knew him best...his shadow.  She has remained in the shadows long enough, and is finally ready to tell her story... O/C
1. The Prologue

Prologue

For years now the story has been circulating. And each time I hear it, I recognize less of the story I knew…the story I was part of…the story of the Phantom of the Opera. Now a days he is discussed in open company, with voices unafraid of being heard. He is said to be either a maniac or a romantic…but to me he was simply the man I loved. For years I have passively listened to the mindless gossip, and corrected none. In the beginning I had tried to set things straight, but to no avail.

Now, however, I am the only one left who knows the truth— not just a story. All the others have fallen away in death, and soon I will be among them once more. But before that happens I must try once more to let the truth be known. The true story of the Opera Ghost, told by the person who knew him best…his shadow.


	2. Learning the Truth

Chapter 1

"The first step towards getting somewhere is to decide that you are not going to stay where you are."

Anonymous

"Where have you been, Miss? Your Papa has been looking all over for you…why, what is that in your hand?" My nurse inquired of me when she found me in the attic.

I looked down once more at the reflection in my hand. All my life I had wondered what it must be like to know what oneself looked like…now I knew. Unable to stop myself I began sobbing uncontrollably. "Why?" I asked her. "Why did no one tell me? You know the truth I know it! Please, Clarissa! I must know!"

"I am not sure I should tell ye…Your father made me promise I never would…"

"Clarissa, it is too late. I know what I look like now…I must know why I wasn't told before…please. You are my truest companion, my one true friend, you simply must tell me the truth of how I became this way."

"Why you were born this way! But yes, miss, I believe it is time you know. I remember the day you were born clear as it was yesterday. The day your father gained a daughter and lost a wife. The doctor and your father stood in wonder at your cradle, unable to bring themselves to even touch you. 'What is it? What is wrong with my baby?' Your mother inquired loud as she was able. But the men only stuttered and stared. Finally I came over to you myself and saw why…I picked you up gentle as I could and said, "Miss you have the most beautiful baby that ever was born!" Then I carefully set in you in her arms…I had been your mother's nurse before I was yours, but never had I seen her as happy as she was then with her baby in her arms.

"The doctor began murmuring to himself, so fast I could hardly understand…He was intrigued by your beauty, never in all his years had he seen anything like you. He paced the room, until finally he said looking at your father, "I have only read about such beauty once…in the story of Helen of Troy." Your father turned pale at the same time as your mother whispered, "Helene, her name must be Helene." So quietly she said it that at first no one noticed. Then you began to cry as your mother's arms went slack. She was weak from the birth pains and had lost a lot of blood. The doctor had been so absorbed in your beauty that he hadn't realized the seriousness of your mother's condition. She was dead before the day was over. But I tell you miss the day you were born, more beautiful than the starry heavens, was the happiest day of your dear mother's life" She said trying desperately to comfort me. I had stopped crying when she began the story but had started anew at the end. I could not be comforted as I swallowed down life's awful truths.

"Why! Why did my father not tell me of this before? Why did he keep up this lie?"

"What lie miss?"

"The lie that everything was normal. That I was normal. When all along everyone knew that I was not. Every one except me… How could he do this to me?"

"That is something you will have to ask him yourself…I have told you all I know."

"I will ask him! Right now!" I stomped out of the room and marched myself to my father's library.

"Helene, my darling, what ever is the matter? You look like you have been crying…" For a moment his genuine concern made me pause my fury. But then I remembered all the lies, all the years that I went around ignorant…and the anger came back more furious than before.

"How could you? How could you never tell me the truth? How could you lie about the reasons why women hate me and men just stare at me? How could you not tell me how I began? How my mother died because of me?"

My father looked shocked. He walked towards me and wiped away the streaming tears from my face.

"You did not cause your mother's death." He said slowly, as if to insure that I understood. "She died because the doctor couldn't stop the bleeding."

"But she might have lived had he not been distracted by my appearance….it is all my fault!"

"It was never your fault. It isn't your fault that you are different and it certainly isn't your fault that your mother died. Can't you see, Helene? All these years I have kept the truth from you so that you could learn a valuable lesson. Physical appearance is a chance of nature, and beauty within is worth more than gold, for inner beauty is forever." He pulled me into his loving embrace, "You are a truly beautiful person, and I am not speaking about just your outer appearance." I pulled away, trying to absorb everything he had just said. Why had it been so important that I learn this way? Could I not learn this lesson if I had known the way I looked? When I asked he said, "Did Clarissa tell you who you were named after?"

"She said I was named after Helen of Troy…but I have never heard of her."

"No, I made sure you wouldn't. Which wasn't easy considering how much you read…" He chuckled, then continued, "Helen of Troy was considered to be half god and the most beautiful woman on the earth. She knew it too. When she was ready to get married, her father had all of her suitors swear that they would always stick together, no matter who she chooses. It may have seen like a good plan, to keep the suitors from killing each other, but Helen's father could not have foreseen the dreadful outcome. Helen chose the Spartan king, but after years of marriage she ran off with a Trojan prince. Because of the oath made when Helen was just a girl, all of Greece had to go up against Troy. The result was a ten year war, and the loss of many lives."

"What happened to Helen?" I asked, scared of the answer.

"The Greeks won the war; Helen went back to her husband."

I couldn't believe his answer, she had brought so much pain and misery. I had to know…"She wasn't punished for the lives that she cost?"

"No one could bring themselves to harm her." He answered me. "She was proud, and she took advantage of people because of the way she looked. I didn't want you to be that way."

"I could never be that way! I am nothing like her! I hate the way I look. I loathe the people who stare at me in wonder. I scorn Helen of Troy and everything she stands for! All I want in life is for people to see me as you do, for the person I am inside…"

"Someday you will find someone who can. For me, it was your mother" He replied with a smile. His eyes got a far off look as he continued, "She saw past what everyone else saw, and feel in love with me. And I saw her, not for as a chorus girl, but as a generous intelligent, and talented young woman. Someday I hope you will find the same."

"But Papa…how can that even be possible? No one can see past eh way I look, not even my friends…"

"What? Meg has never said anything about your looks… And Roaul, he has always been a good friend to you." My father replied with the naiveté only found in parents.

"Meg," I explained with a sigh, "she is nice, and my only girl friend… But she hasn't come to visit since the Mud Incident. And Roaul…he always stares. He tries to be my friend, but my appearance is too much for him. He adores me, and hates anyone else who feels the same. Last night he was the one who started that awful brawl over me!"

"Yes, the ball may not have been a good idea…" Papa conceded.

"May not have been?" I interrupted," Papa it was a disaster! Like a mini Trojan war! What in heaven's name were you thinking? You had to have suspected what would happen!"

"Helene, you must marry someday. You are getting too old for a nurse, and I am getting older too. Someday Clarissa and I will not be here for you always."

"Papa, how can I marry for love, if every man only loves me for my looks?" I asked him, but I could tell by his face that he didn't have an answer for me. I pushed down my feelings of despair and told him, "This," I said pointing to my face, "isn't your fault either. We will figure something out…together!" When his face considerably cheered up, I knew I would have to live up to my words. "Papa, I had better go to my room to think this out. I will come back when I have thought of something."

"Yes, darling. And I will think about this too." He said to me as I left the room.

I had tried to sound optimistic for my father's sake, but I simply was not. I tried to think of a way to test out the love of my suitors. I thought of questions, quizzes, and quests…but what did they have to do with love? Would knowing my favorite color prove that a man love me? Would going to the other side of the world for a trinket prove his love? Or would it simply prove that I am surrounded by determined and foolish men, who want me for the prize? No, the answer I was looking for was not to be found in mere questions or quests.

My father wished to help me…but what could he do? He was right; I needed to have a way to take care of myself someday. I had no family to take me in. And friends wise there was only Roaul and Meg…

Roaul would take me in gladly, always anxious to prove his "undying love". However my feelings toward him are more that of a sister, if anything all I feel for him is pity. He makes me nervous with the way he always stares and listens to every word I say as if it is the most important thing in the world. I do not doubt his infatuation with me, but I cannot bring myself to return it. Nor can I take advantage of his strong feelings for selfish reasons.

Meg was a sweet girl, but I could not depend on her either. She was controlled by Chrissie, and Chrissie hated me from the moment she first saw me. She took one look at me and threw mud in my face, shouting that she hated me. Meg had been a good friend to me, but I suppose Chrissie was a better friend for Meg hasn't come to see me since. I missed her visits terribly; she was my only girl friend, someone who could listen to all my thoughts without thinking me insane. It was almost as if she never noticed my looks…I suppose it was her mother that taught her that way. Madame Giry was fierce and bold and quite, but she never judged people by their rank or station or looks. She had been my mother's mentor; had remained her friend even when all others abandoned her because her marriage to my father. She stayed my friend when my mother died. Madame Giry was an understanding soul despite her fearsome looks, perhaps that is why she is considered to be the messenger for the Opera Ghost… The Opera Ghost, now that was a subject of every discussion between me and Meg. As young girls, we could not help but be intrigued by the mysterious ghost. How I missed those times of talk and play…But now I admit, as a girl of seventeen, I see the ridiculous in it as well. An apparition haunting a Opera house, it doesn't get sillier than that. And yet, many do believe in this make believe person… Perhaps, just perhaps, I had at last found my way to be free.

I could not rely on Roaul, Meg, or even my dear Papa to be my savior. But perhaps I could rely on myself. People were eager to believe in this Phantom, I do believe that it is about time somebody gives them something to believe in.


	3. Hidden truths

Chapter 2

"Without love we are birds with broken wings"

Morrie Schwartz

"I know you must leave, Helene, but this cannot be the only way." Papa objected. When I had come up with my plan, I had thought it brilliant and foolproof, but he did not agree. He hoped to persuade me to think his way. "What of love, Helene? You cannot live all by yourself. We are human creatures, without love we are nothing." He claimed defiantly. I was a different opinion on the matter, but wished to help him see things my way, not argue with him.

"I will not be without love. I have you and Clarissa. I may be leaving, but I am not dying! We will keep in touch. It will be like I never left." I assured him.

"That isn't what I am talking about and you know it! Your mother was the best thing that ever happened to me. All I wish is for you to have the same thing." He replied gently. I knew that he only wanted what was best for me, but I could not agree. I am still young; I have things I want to do with my life. I don't know what those things are yet, but I know that I must find out. How can I let someone in, when I don't even know what is inside? Self discovery is a dangerous path, not chosen by most girls my age. Instead those girls marry, and before they know it their whole identity is their husband. I didn't want to end up the same way. Love is powerful drug, and I want to be sober during my youth. I have seen what Love can do to a person. Sometimes it is kind, and brings out the best…but usually it is painful and cruel. If love comes to me, I would not object, but I would not seek out this tricky emotion. If only I could make my father understand…

"Papa…what if I could prove to you that none of the boys that supposedly love me are truly in love?" I asked slyly. He looked at me with curiosity and gestured for me to continue. "I believe in love as much as you do, but I think it cannot be found here. At least not now. Now I am simply a beautiful girl, but I wish to be something more. If I could believe that someone could love me for who I am and not simply for the way I look, I would be willing to give him a chance. But I can prove that none of my suitors are that man." I said with surety.

"You are as stubborn as your mother," he replied with a dramatic sigh.

I smiled at him and began to relate my plan, "You are going to have another party-"

"I don't recall the last one going so well," He interrupted.

"Ah, but this one will be a mask ball…" I replied with a sly smile.

Before I had found out the truth about the way I looked, I had always assumed that I looked like Meg. We both had blonde hair, blue eyes, and were similar in size. It was my hope that with a costume and mask, we could switch places. This way when my father saw that none of the suitors could tell the difference, he would know that they did not love me. Of course, my plan could only work if Meg would agree to it, so I made arrangements to see her in the morning.

The Opera Populaire is a peculiar place in the morning- quite, mystical almost. The stage hands mill around at a slower pace than usual, still swaying from the night before. The divas are silent only in their slumber. As for the Opera Ghost, he was nowhere to be found at this ungodly hour. But that would be changing soon…

Meg was happy to be part of my plan, thinking it to be a good joke. I couldn't bring myself to tell her about the whole plan however. It was as if it was my secret, a secret so sweet that I couldn't share it. Besides, she was a true believer in the Opera Ghost, and I wished to encourage that ideal. In fact, the more people believed, the easier this would be to pull off.

"So what is the famous Opera Ghost up to these days?" I asked, my voice full of sarcasm that was completely lost on Meg.

Her eyes widened and in all seriousness, she replied, "Something big is on its way. I am sure of it." I resisted the urge to laugh and tell her my plan. I needed more information first.

"Why do you say that?" I asked, this time without sarcasm.

"He has all but disappeared, playing at children's games with minor pranks instead of his usual madness. But it is the calm before the storm, I tell you! There is something big that he is planning, I just know it." Her discloser was more than I could tolerate. She was my friend, and I hated for her to be stuck believing in faerie stories.

"How can you still believe in this nonsense? Meg it is probably some silly stagehand pulling this pranks. What makes you so sure that this ghost, this phantom is real?" I demanded to know why she still believed.

"Be careful, Helene. He has secret passageways everywhere…he could be listening right now!" She claimed, glancing around furtively with genuine fear.

"Why should be frightened of something that isn't real?" I began to say before she clamped her hand over my mouth.

"I said be careful. He targets those who don't believe. The pranks may be childish, but they are still dangerous. I will show you why I believe, but you must keep quite!" She said, slowly removing her hand from my mouth. I nodded my head in acquiesce and followed her to the second floor balcony seats. She took me to Box 6 and pointed to the right. "This is where he sits. First row, all the way to the right where he can see without being seen. Box 5 is his; no one can enter except my mother. She says he is there at the second act, she hears his voice, sees his glove and opera glasses, but she never sees him. He is real, but he is a ghost. There is no other way to explain this phenomenon." She was deadly serious about this, and I found myself once more reluctant to burst her bubble.

"I cannot see from here! Let us go inside Box 5 to—"

"HELENE! Have you listened to a word I have said? No one goes into that room, not a single person, save for the Opera Ghost and my mother!" She told me once more. This time I did not object. My mind began whirling with plans upon plans. I admit, I did not listen to another word she spoke that day…perhaps, I should have.


	4. Ghosts

Chapter 3

"And after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but the truth in a masquerade"

Lord Byron

I examined Meg as she finished up getting ready. Amazing what a costume, a mask, and a bit of rouge could do, it was if looking into a mirror. We both wore pale blue dresses with wings on the back. Our mask was white with feathers and reached down to the cheek bones. With our hair in an intricate braid, our only difference was the halo on my head, which I would pass on to her soon enough. We smiled at each other for reassurance as I left the room to put the plan in motion.

Like bees to honey they swarmed to me. Begging me to dance with them, to smile at them, to marry them, a constant chatter I could bear no longer. For what felt like an eternity I smiled and danced, evading their endless questions and proposals. Only the knowledge that I would never need to do this again kept me from screaming. Finally, I excused myself and returned where Meg was eagerly waiting to take my place. With a relieved smile, I passed the halo to Meg, happy knowing that I would never be anyone's "angel" again.

I hurried to my bedroom, where Clarissa was waiting to help me get ready for my departure. I changed into a sensible, easy to move in black dress and began unbraiding my hair.  
"Here, let me do that." Clarissa said, shooing my hands away. I let her take charge as I studied myself in the mirror. I wasn't going to miss my face...not a wit. I looked down at the black silk mask in my lap. It was a simple, full face mask with a blue design over the black. It would keep people from recognizing me and free me to become my own person. I looked back at the mirror and caught Clarissa's eye. "I am going to miss having you to do my hair," I said with a grin as she finished up the simple braid.  
"Why is that miss? You can do your own hair just fine." She replied, careful not to make eye contact again.

"But it will not be the same. What I am trying to say is that I am ready to be on my own, but I am still going to miss you." I said, trying my best to reassure her of my love.  
"I know Missy." She said, pulling me into her giant embrace, "I am going to miss you too." Releasing me, she wiped away her tears and continued, "I have something for you, a going away present, if you will." Ignoring my protests she pulled a wooden rose out of her apron pocket. I stared in wonder at the beautiful, fake rose, curious why she wanted to give it to me.  
"This rose, unlike the kind that grows from the dirt, will last forever. Someone put a lot of work and effort to make this rose before they gave it to me. Love is like this rose. With enough effort and thought, it can last forever." She said as she handed me the rose, then continued, "That is why I want you to have it, Dearie."

My eyes were starting to tear up at this point so I pulled her into a hug and whispered, "Thank you so much! I will treasure this forever." Then turning away quickly, I wiped away my tears and tied on my mask. Turning back around I asked, "How do I look?"

"Like a new person!" She told me with a bright smile.

"My luggage is already at the door?" When she nodded, I continued, "I better go say good bye to my papa. I will miss you both so much…but I am excited about this new life before me!" She smiled in return, and pushed me out the door. Laughing I returned to the ballroom to discover that, quite as I suspected, my absence went unnoticed. The men were surrounding Meg, trying to catch a closer glimpse, while all the women tried to drag their men away from her. Finally I caught sight of Papa leaning against a column, watching the spectacle in disgust. Carefully, so as not to cause any unwanted attention, I made my way to him. Realizing that even my own father didn't recognize me, I walked right past him, turned around and came up behind the column he was leaning on.

"They don't even notice that I am gone." I whispered in his ear. He jumped about a foot at the sound of my voice. Hand over his heart, he whispered back, "You scared me half to death!" I hoped that the mask would conceal my amusement, but considering his next words, I suppose my eyes gave me away.

"That is not funny! I am far too old to be jumping like that!" He exclaimed. We both started laughing hysterically, until tears welled up in our eyes. Then, as suddenly as we had begun laughing, we stopped abruptly. We examined each other closely, knowing it would be the last time for a while. I pulled him into my arms and tried to convey how much I would miss him. When I pulled back, he had that look in his eye that he was about to protest again.

"Papa! This was you idea! You know as much as I do that it is necessary for me to leave tonight. It is important that I find my way on my own for a while. And it is essential that I start out on that path now. This isn't permanent; we will see each other again soon!" I assured him.

"I didn't even say anything!" He protested. I gave him a look and he caved, "Fine, you are right… I really hate it when you are the voice of reason."

"I can't help the way I was raised!" I quipped with a twinkly in my eye. With one last embrace, I left my life behind, eager to begin a new one.

"What time is it?" I asked the cab man as he handed me down my luggage. As he looked impatiently at me to grab my suitcase, I once more thought of how grateful I was to live in Paris, where masquerade parties were considered the normal thing to do. One could go almost anywhere in a mask at night during the right time of year. He threw my luggage down at me before answering, "It is the queer hour miss." I smiled to myself, remembering how many times Clarissa had called it the same thing. "The queer hour" was midnight, a time like no other when darkness can be revealing and no one can hide from reality. When she told me this, years ago, I began staying up until midnight, eager to face reality. Not until tonight, did I truly ever feel like I was being true to myself. I looked in wonder up at the Opera Populaire as the carriage drove away. My new home beckoned me like a mother would a child. I made my way to the entrance unnoticed. For the first time in my life, I basked in the power of invisibility. Not a single soul stopped and stared, no one even saw me. It was a feeling I could get used to.

As I walked down the dark corridor to box five, the world seemed to get quieter and quieter, until the only sound I could hear were my own gentle steps. It was as if I had entered a separate world that only I dared to trespass into. A mystical world where ghosts and shadows prospered, a world I belonged to. Upon reaching box five, I went straight to where Meg said the Opera Ghost's seat was and placed myself there. The view wasn't the best I had ever had, but the spot was perfect. No matter where one was in the audience or stage, there was no way one would notice this spot. I got back up and began to walk around the box, looking for a good place to store my luggage. The box itself was small, but it would do until I found some of those secret passageways that Meg had mentioned earlier. At least that was my plan until I slammed myself into the hollow column. I was normally a naturally graceful person, but as I was unaccustomed to the darkness of midnight within box five, I found myself to be as clumsy as a child learning to toddle.

At any rate my lack of grace turned out to be a blessing, as I soon discovered when I realized that I had indeed found one of the secret passageways, much sooner than I thought I would. I took a step inside the dark path before realizing I had left behind my suitcase. Quickly turning back to get it, I narrowly evaded what could have been a disaster. Or so I would learn later on that night. At that moment, however, all I noticed was an eerie silence that seemed to shout that something was missing. With a shaking hand I dug my match box out of my pocket and strove to light it. Again, again, and again, I tried to no avail before I began to grasp at what the problem was. There was a constant, steady zephyr that prevented the flame as if it had a personal conflict against me. I sighed as I considered my options. I could turn back and wait until I found a better way, or I could take the risk and go forward. Closing my eyes, I faced my fears and took a step forward. At first was darkness was intimidating, given that I could not see my hand in front of my face. Clinging to the stone wall saved me from falling flat on my face. Despite the difficulties, I found that I became almost found of the inky black tunnel. I came to the conclusion that the darkness was a safety for me. For one, no sane person would dare to traverse this particular path. Also, I blended into the shadows of the darkness so well that even if someone was daft enough to try they would never be able to see me. It never occurred to me that I wasn't the first to think of this "novel" idea…

Suddenly I found myself at a fork in my path. Straight ahead the darkness continued on for who knows how long, but to my left the path seemed to lead to the light. I hesitated for no more than a moment before deciding to stick with the path I had already chosen. My rule of thumb was to keep to my first instincts until I was absolutely certain that I was wrong. Of course, staying in the darkened tunnel proved to be rather treacherous due to my unusual clumsiness. I was tripping every few steps, at one point I scraped my hand against one stone so hard my hand began to bleed profusely. Refusing to cry out or admit defeat, I pushed past the pain and kept going for what seemed like forever until finally I caught a glimpse of something different.

As it turned out, what had caught my eye was a small body of water. I had heard of underground lakes, but never in my life did I imagine I would be far enough underground to find one. I was about to decide that I had reached a dead end when I discovered a boat. It was an old dilapidated looking boat that almost looked as if it wouldn't float, but I got on anyways. I had thought that this boat was far too old fashioned to be in recent use. I reasoned with myself that perhaps there had once been another who had haunted this theater, but now there was only me. Ghosts weren't real, I told myself over and over. Rowing to the other side of the lake proved to be more difficult than I had imagined. I was in pain, I was exhausted, I was scared, but still I rowed. I focused on thinking of better forms of transportation to get across. When I finally got to the opposite shore I was so exhausted that I barely got out of the boat before I passed out.

When I finally awoke, I found myself being towered over by what appeared to be a dripping ghost. "How did you get here?" he whispered. I lost consciousness once more, my last coherent thought being, _ghosts can't get wet…_


	5. Risks

Chapter 4

"The person who risks nothing, does nothing, had nothing, is nothing and becomes nothing. He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he simply cannot learn and feel and change and grow and love and live."

-Leo F. Buscaglia

As my eyelids fluttered open I tried to remember where I was. I had a sinking feeling there was something not quite right, when in a flash it all came back to me. My hands flew to my face and a breathed a sigh of relief as they grazed the smooth silk of my mask. My relief, however, was short lived as I considered the possibility of discovery by this strange ghost-man-whatever he was- and what he might do.

Then out of nowhere a voice seemed to fill the room, "I didn't touch your mask." The words were stated simply; however, quite a bit of time went by before I realized what they said. The voice itself was a source of wonderment. It was as smooth as silk, yet as powerful as thunder. When I finally tried to get up to find the speaker of these words, the voice came again, "You might not want to try moving just yet." But I was intent on finding out where this mystical voice was coming from, so once more I made to sit up and almost cried out from pain. My hand was pulsing in pain, despite a new bandage, put there by the ghost/man I supposed. My arms felt as if they had been ripped out and put back. Every part of my body was seized with pain, but I refused to show weakness in front of this unknown monster. My eyes closed and my tongue between my teeth, I didn't see from where the ghost/man came from, except to know that when my eyes opened he was in front of me.

"You are a pretty tough little thing. But you needn't pretend- I can imagine the pain you are in. Now, would you mind telling me how the devil you came to be in my house?" He inquired from his spot across the room. I stared up at the man. He was eerie and frightening, but was far too real and dangerous to be a mere ghost. He was dressed all in black, every inch covered, except for his face. His face was covered with a white silken mask, much like the one I was wearing.

"I know you can speak," he stated in his quite yet loud voice, interrupting my disquieting thoughts, "You talk in your sleep. Now explain how you came to find yourself in this perilous position." He ordered.

Panicking about what I may have already confessed, I cleared my dry throat and croaked out, "Box five, I came from box five." His golden eyes narrowed into slits as he processed what I said.

"Impossible! No one could possibly have found the entrance to the tunnel in box five! Not to mention all the traps along the way. Who helped you?" He asked menacingly.

Swallowing my fear, I responded, "I didn't need help. I don't need anybody. I made it here on my own, and I think it is time for me to leave." After saying my piece, I got up and headed for the door. But before getting two steps from where I started, he had arrested my arm and said in a irate tone, "Why are you here?" His demanding tone was chafing at my pride, so I matched my tone to his and demanded to know if he was indeed the 'all powerful' Opera Ghost.

"I am precisely that! Who are you? Explain yourself at once," He snarled, gripping my arm still tighter, and added, "Do not lie, for your very life is at stake." Ripping myself from his tight grip, I put some distance between us before answering with a voice dripping in sarcasm.

"My life is at stake?" I repeated, mimicking him as best I could, "Is that the best you can do? You are supposed to be a legend! All I see before me is an old man- full of empty threats and cheap tricks." His golden eyes flashed at my snappy sarcasm, but he didn't move from where I had left him standing.

"What," he asked with falsetto calmness, "pray tell, on what grounds do you make such unwise accusations?" I could tell that he wanted to frighten me with his unnatural calm, but it was too late. I had been swallowing my fear all night, and I had begun to like the taste of it.

"I say it because it is true." I announced with a hint of triumph in my voice. I could not help but feel proud that I had stood up to this menacing man. With my new found courage, I pressed on, "Just look at you! Your clothes are so out of fashion, I haven't seen any like them except in photographs. Your boat is even older than your clothes must be. Everything in this room is covered in three inches of dust! I wouldn't be surprised if you were just as dusty…I mean rusty. Why that is what everyone else says! Why do you think I was under the impression that the Opera Ghost was just an exaggeration of a silly stage-" I was interrupted by his hands around my neck. Without seeming to move he had crossed the room. I had thought I knew what it was to be afraid, I now new the true meaning of terror.

"I have killed people for saying less than you have" He whispered harshly. Realizing I could die at any moment, I swallowed the bitter taste of misplaced pride and asked him what he was waiting for. His hands tightened in a death dealing grip, when just as suddenly as he had put his powerful hands there, he removed them. My eyes widened in surprise as I watched him back away from me.

"You have guts, kid. Most ladies scream or faint at the very sight of me, and yet with my hands around your neck, you did neither. I am beginning to doubt that you are even frightened," His words caught me off guard; I could do no more than stare in wonder. He continued, "I haven't killed you yet, because of your mask. I am guessing- and I'm never wrong- that you have run away from home to start a new life. Of course you don't believe in ghost stories, but you thought you could take advantage of other people's superstitious thinking. Am I right?" He asked with a glint in his eye that I was beginning to think was his way of smiling. I saw in that glint, hope for my survival.

"Listen," I asked him, with more politeness than I had been using before, "we have gotten off to a bad beginning-"

"I'll say!" he interrupted, "you stole my boat, invaded my house, and insulted me multiple times!"

"As I was saying," I rolled my eyes at his dramatic outburst, "we have gotten off to a bad start, but it doesn't have to end with death. You could just let me go, or-"

"Nobody," He interrupted again, "leaves here alive." I almost missed the ruthlessness of his statement, so miffed was I at being cut off once more. Before I could snap at him once more, however, the death threat hit its mark.

"Or," I continued as if he hadn't disrupted me, "You could let me stay." There was a long pause as my words seem to float through the air, waiting for him to comprehend them. When he kept staring at me as if I had just said something extremely complicated, when in fact I had not. "If you would listen without interrupting so often, maybe you wouldn't miss simple statements," his eyes flashed with a look that I recognized as trouble and apologizing quickly I continued, "I am sorry, but truly bad manners are appalling. What I was trying to say is that you might consider keeping me here. I can help you haunt the Opera House. It is a big place, I cou-"

"Are you insane? I don't need help! I don -"

"Will you just listen?" I demanded, "You do indeed need help! This place is huge and you are starting to slack off. Everyone knows it, and before you know it, I will not be the only one who doubts your existence. Then where will you be? People will never show you the fear and respect that you crave, you will be nothing but a ghost of what once was!" I screamed at him. I had never met anyone rude enough to make me lose my temper so many times in such a short space of time. He paced the room, muttering to himself, then stopped in front of me and said, "I should have killed you sooner."

Seizing his hesitation like the life line that is was, I shot back, "But you didn't, because deep down you know we are cut from the same cloth. Has anyone else ever made it this far? Has anyone else ever stood up to you, despite the danger? I didn't think so. Surely…surely someone once showed you a kindness. All I ask is for a chance." I said keeping my eyes glued to his. With our facial expressions concealed, our eyes were the focal communicators of truth.

I saw the sadness in his eyes as he responded, "Someone did help me once, with tragic consequences. That man lost everything because of me." I realized that he was at the point where he could be swayed either way, so I tried once more to persuade him.

"Look," I said gently, conscience of the distressing thought that may have been on his mind, "I know there are risks in this venture, for both sides. How can you know it will fail unless you try? How long do you think you can keep this up all alone? If you will just let me shadow you for a time, give me a trial of sorts. If you find the situation not to your liking, you can easily dispose of me. Either way you win." For the longest time he just stared at me, but this time I would not be the first to break the delicate silence.

"A trial. Fine, you have a deal, Miss— forgive me, what is your name?"

"My name?" I panicked and did something I had never done before- I lied, "My name is Vashti."

"You are a terrible liar," he told me, "and I refuse to call you by that ridiculous name."

"It isn't ridiculous. Vashti was a glorious Persian Queen!" I informed him with a condescending tone.

"A queen who lost her glory because of her own vanity!" he objected. I recoiled at the thought of vanity being my downfall. I was not vain in the common sense, but I had pride. Too much perhaps, but I could not resist defending the name I had chosen once more.

"It wasn't vanity, it was pride. She may have lost her glory, but she kept her dignity. That is why I chose her name. The name given me at birth is a cursed and hated name." He seemed to understand the resentment I held for my name.

"Fine," he conceded, "Your name doesn't matter at any rate. You most likely won't be staying long. For the time being, I will address you as Shadow, for my shadow you will become." His words gave me chills from a precarious combination of excitement and irritation.

"I refuse to take on such a degrading name! The shadow of a ghost-that is ridiculous!" I shouted at him.

His eyes flashed as he replied, "Stay as a shadow, or leave as a ghost." I heard the implied threat and dropped the argument. Accepting my acquiesce he continued, "You may address me as Phantom, Opera Ghost, or O.G, whichever you prefer. Now allow me to give you a tour of your temporary home" He watched me as if waiting for me to give him another snappy response. I stared him down, but I would not give in to what he expected of me. At any rate, despite his annoying and rude ways, I was intrigued and captured by the thought of this glorious adventure before me.


End file.
